


Death is only a stone of oblivion

by BoredPsychopath_JC



Series: Whoever you are, I love you. [1]
Category: London Spy
Genre: AlexLives2K15, Ambiguous/Open Ending, Angst, Grave Visit, M/M, Over-emotional Danny, This author chose not to believe what TRS said about Alex's fate, Who can blame him after all he'd been through?, hope it works, i was very emotional when i wrote this, not a fix-it but still
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2015-12-18
Updated: 2015-12-18
Packaged: 2018-05-07 11:03:28
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,916
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/5454302
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/BoredPsychopath_JC/pseuds/BoredPsychopath_JC
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>“This is a fucking stupid idea,” he shook his head. “But I just can’t. I can’t leave you alone on your birthday. For fuck’s sake we had spent only one together! And now that I know where you…” </p>
<p>Danny could not bring himself saying the word “lie”. From a cramped trunk to a coffin. He did not mean he wanted to say about lies either. It made him sick. He never stopped dwelling on the “what-ifs”. He knew he needed to change the topic.<br/>__</p>
<p>It was Alex's birthday. Danny, now alone and still grieving, visited his grave. He had faced lies while searching for the truth for more than a year and a half. One-sided dialogues ensued. Then there seemed to be a surprise.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Death is only a stone of oblivion

**Author's Note:**

> This is my way to cope with the sadness and disappointment from the finale (and Tom Rob Smith's subsequent comments). Again, it isn't Brit-picked or closely proofread. Sorry for the mess!  
> Title quoted from Pablo Neruda’s Love Sonnet LXXVIII, the same translated version read by Ben Whishaw in Poetica podcast Tides. Thanks to Ben’s reading, I’ve got perhaps too obsessed with it.

It was Alex’s birthday again. Not the first one they were not spending together after things went wrong. That one was a blur- Danny thought he drank into oblivion. There were lots of sobbing and swearing, alone in the big house he just moved into. Since then, more things had happened. It had been getting even farther beyond his reach.

Danny did not expect it but he did finally make it to Alex’s grave, exactly a year after that alcohol-induced oblivion.

It was only drizzling. The night before there was downpour. Danny blamed the weather for being a bit too fine for him to give up the visit. He headed out after breakfast, dressed in the that long black coat which witnessed his friend’s funeral a bit more than a year ago. 

An hour and a half later, he set foot on the messy wet grass in a small church graveyard for the first time.  He pulled his coat tighter, fingers tugging at the collars. His footsteps dragged and he was shaking. Definitely not because of the cold.

Alex’s gravestone was not difficult to find, yet it took Danny way longer time to reach it. He found it too modest and simple among its sophisticatedly-crafted neighbours. It was just a regular black marble headstone with two lines in gold:

**In Loving Memory Of  
** **ALISTAIR BENJAMIN TURNER**

There was a vase with some withered wild flowers on the right corner of the smallish protruding base. Danny stood in front of the headstone, looking around to make sure he was alone, out of habit. He balled his hands into fists in the pockets. _These were actually stones_ , he thought, _lifeless and oblivious to the connection between the living standing in front and the dead lying underneath, and yet, how dare they serve as representative because of the names engraved on them?_

“Well, hey, I don’t know why I’m doing this here,” he began softly, voice coarse and uncertain. “I never thought I’d visit your here. I buried you, in my own way, but—“

He took a deep breath. His former flatmates always found him a mess of bubbling emotions. He could not remember the last time when he could babble out his feelings freely.  For once, finally, he was not to recount facts. He needed not to present himself as a convincing and rational witness. People said he needed to get the words out. This was the chance he both dreaded and yearned for.

“I,” his voice shook, “never want to forget. I love you still. In fact I won’t stop loving you. Even after all this shit. Those lies and slanders. I tried. Tried to tell the world you were framed. No one listens.” 

“We were stopped, erm, in worst ways possible. I still insisted. Because you're worth it,” his voice cracked further, “from the morning you ran into my life.”

“I still want to hear what you think. _Explain_ this. In your own words. From your own mouth. Not… not something _they_ want to tell me.”  

Danny’s eyesight blurred. He faintly felt his nails digging into his chin. It did not hurt at all. He buried his face in his palms, shaking uncontrollably.  

“I… cracked that, you know. They knew too. I couldn’t stop them erasing it. But I think, I do, they don’t know what that passcode meant. It’s our fucking brains they can’t record,” he snorted with a bitter laugh. “I wish there'd be another way for me to know, I mean, what you wanted to let me know with that. In words, or in numbers. I don’t care. But with your own voice. ”

“Perhaps they’re overhearing. Even now,” Danny frantically gestured in mid-air, “I don’t give a fuck anymore. They took you away from me. They took away my health and my old friend. They even involved my fucking parents. Can you believe that?! ‘Course you can, right, erm, sorry, I didn’t mean…” 

The graveyard was dead quiet.

“All those months… Then I heard about what happened in the attic. I don’t know. This is the _only thing_ I wish to be a lie.”

He paused, tilting his head and considering.

“Yes, it’s from her. I hate to say it, but she… She was my last resort for answers. She, erm, disappeared a month ago. We were actually confirming…" he bit his lips, feeling his chest tightened. "Whatever. It doesn’t _really_ matter now.”

Danny shut his eyes tightly, letting tears slide down his cheeks.  He opened his mouth with some difficulty, drawing in air and counting from one to seven. _Not here please_. _Steady, breathe in, breathe out_. His knees felt weak.

“Now. I am here,” he found his voice again, steadying himself with a hand on the headstone. “Not quite my idea. Folks at the HIV support forum. Would you have guessed?” he touched the gravestone, “they said I should find ways to tell you about my struggles. I don’t. I don’t really think I can make another bonfire to burn letters. I'm not fine at all. Things… just didn’t get better. And that’s too much for one,” he shut away the memories of the only two times he was in front of the fire by the water at night.  

“And I’m too tired to bring words onto papers now. Just like dragging them from your head,” his hand subconsciously went to his hair. “It’s been hurting. Too much, since you’re—”

Danny twisted his hands, rubbing uncomfortably his cold rough palms together. He could not tell raindrops from tears. His hands numbed. 

“Do you know how I felt when I heard about your funeral on the news?” he paused, taking a deep breath. “I thought we could grow old together, and then perhaps, we die together. And share the funeral together. I can’t say I...“ there was a lump in his throat, “don’t hate them for this. I wish… I just wish I knew earlier about your work and stuff, and that we could face it together. I’d promised you dammit! I’ve known chances are better if you're not fighting alone.”

“Scottie said I should say my own goodbye. I did. Carried your stuff to the countryside. Burnt most of them and scattered the ash in the water. It didn’t work. I just clung more and more onto the memories. I can’t lose them. These are _all_ I have.”

He sniffed and let out a sigh. Whom was he convincing? 

“Scottie was helpful and supportive. Till his last breath. His death looked like _suicide_ ,” Danny was startled by the sound of feathers fluttering. His voice got louder but he did not know to where his anger actually directed. “Sometimes I wonder. Perhaps you can see him in some form of afterlife- not that I’m now religious- but if you do see him, yes, I hope… You can hear from him. Some words I meant to say but hadn’t got any bloody chance. I’m _not_ going to repeat them here. It’ll break me. Not today. Not on your birthday.”

Danny forced a smile. A very weak one. The drizzle had stopped for a while.

“This is a fucking stupid idea,” he shook his head. “But I just can’t. I can’t leave you alone on your birthday. For fuck’s sake we had spent only one together! And now that I know where you…” 

Danny could not bring himself saying the word “lie”. From a cramped trunk to a coffin. He did not mean he wanted to say about lies either. It made him sick. He never stopped dwelling on the “what-ifs”. He knew he needed to change the topic.

“Scottie left me his house. I can’t sleep well all these days. I finally started browsing through his files and documents. Two nights ago, I found another note with the real location of your grave. He’d just looked that up for me. What a friend.”

Danny sat himself gingerly on the small base of the gravestone, tracing his index finger through the word **Loving**.

“Alex.” He whispered, letting the word sink in the stagnant air. He hadn’t spoken this word for a long time with only pure tenderness. “I really _really_ miss you.” Danny’s fingertip slid a bit on the moist smooth surface.

“You’re always the reason. You gave me strength and courage to face your world. I don't care what you'd withheld from me. But you see... I’m so alone now. So. Fucked. Up.” He was again weeping, leaning in so his left temple was against the cold marble. 

“Part of me feels you’re not dead. Something... doesn’t make sense if you are. I don’t understand. My instincts are often right. So what about this? Is there still a chance to bring you back? Because... THAT CAN’T BE IT. That just _can’t_ be it.”

He shook his head violently. _Why didn't I stay in and keep drinking?_

“This is the worst place for me to think clearly. I just…” he sniffed again, “don’t want to leave you. At least I don’t want you to leave. You found me, on that morning I felt so worthless and lost. I want you to know I never regret breaking that phone. I will keep breathing. I will not give up on you.”

He grabbed his jeans, yanking the fabric as his sobs went into silent ones. Time seemed to stand still.

“I’ve been crying onto a stone, thinking it'd be you who listen,” he stared at the gravestone and shrugged, “I’m not even _sure_ it’ll not be others who hear these.”

There were always things unsaid. There were always things that are said but unheard. Staring at a headstone bearing the name his love hated was not helping. It stood neutral, oblivious to the surrounding. But perhaps _death_ could not make those left behind oblivious.

So Danny helped himself up. He had no peace, but what he could do for the time being was to retrieve those wilted flowers from the vase. He could not bear the sight. The stems tangled and stuck in the narrow mouth. He reached over. A cream-coloured corner caught his eyes. He blinked, checking the deserted ground again, before quickly pulling out a small envelope from the base of the vase. It was not soaked wet even though it had been raining for two days. On the cover there was a line in that familiar handwriting he thought he could never see again. His breath caught.

It wrote: **_For the right one_**

He fumbled with the content. An e-ticket for one, folded neatly into a small square. It was for a one-way flight to America. A soft whine escaped his throat. It was booked two days ago. He refused to think of the implication. There were lines written underneath the itinerary. He noticed the writer’s hesitance, just the same he noted from those post-it notes left in his room during those eight months, whenever the brilliant mathematical mind let his affection show in words:

**_You are never in this alone. I tried and fought too. I am sorry I couldn’t end this earlier.  
_** **_I should have never started that, if I had known what it would mean to us.  
_ ** ******_Will you still come with me?_**

Danny did not know if this fuelled his hope or led to further despair, or something even worse than huge disappointment. Still, on his love’s birthday, he was the one who got a surprise. Speechless, he hugged the letter tight till his sore eyes could see clearly.

**Author's Note:**

> Thank you so much for reading! I'm still crying over this show on Tumblr. Please let me know what you think :))
> 
> Thanks again to snowyylove ;)


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